At the highest level, the game of chess is a deadly serious business but, thank heaven, it can also be hilariously funny. The history of world championship chess, in fact, is "relieved" by several ludicrous episodes, some of which may seem to reveal the quirky side of the geniuses who dominated it. This week, Double Rooks has decided to take a comic break after some recent "heavy jamming over the Olympiad and FIDE presidential elections." And recounting the humorous story of Viktor Korchnoi's 1978 world championship match against Anatoly Karpov in the Philippines just seems to fill the bill. As Garry Kasparov tells it in his book, How Life Imitates Chess, tensions between the two combatants were at a peak even before the match began. The "hated defector" Korchnoi was challenging the full might of the Soviet machine and its champion Karpov. "Countless petty protests were filed by both sides before they started the first game. They argued about the flags on the table, the height and style of the chairs, the colour of yogurt Karpov ate during the games. "But none of these were as bizarre as the story of Dr Vladimir Zukhar, a psychology professor who came to Baguio City as part of Karpov's entourage."
Whatever his motive or purpose, Zukhar sat in the audience and maintained a direct and intense stare at Korchnoi during every game of the world championship. His association with Karpov and his disconcerting mien led the superstitious Korchnoi and his overprotective team to suspect foul play of a supernatural kind. Zukhar was accused of being a parapsychologist who was attempting to use his special mental powers to disrupt Korchnoi's concentration. To thwart this possible telepathic intrusion, Korchnoi's team demanded that Zukhar not be allowed to sit too close to the stage. But the Soviets fought every request and responded with their own demands. "Thus began a bizarre escapade that saw Zukhar changing seats daily, often flanked by members of Korchnoi's delegation," Kasparov related. "Prior to game 17 of the match, Korchnoi even refused to play unless Zukhar moved further back, a protest that cost the challenger eleven minutes on his clock, time he could have later used when he found himself in severe time trouble." To make the episode even more laughable, Korchnoi later brought in his own "parapsychologist, neurologist and hypnotist" to combat Kukhar's powers. "The saga continued in similar fashion throughout the match," Kasparov reported.
"Was it all posturing? Or is it really possible that two of the greatest chess players on the planet, and their closest associates, were distracted by such sideshows during the most important match of their careers?" Karpov won the final game–with Zukhar sitting up front–to win the 32-game match by a single point. Kasparov says he often wonder how much better Korchnoi would have done if he hadn't invested so much energy responding to Karpov's provocations and speculating about whether Karpov was receiving secret messages in his yogurt. "Incidentally," Kasparov concludes, "Karpov's first victory came in game eight, after he startled his opponent–and the fans–by refusing to shake Korchnoi's hand before the game. Another psychological gambit well played?" If we subscribe to Kasparov's view that life imitates chess, then we may well expect that, on the broader chessboard of life, gambits of a psychological nature would at some time be played against us to confuse, to create doubt, even to derail us from pursuing a certain project or course of action. Reacting as Korchnoi did is certainly not the best answer. We must be able to recognise the psycho attack for what it is and be mentally strong enough to deal with it at the same level.